Homecoming
by Dream Charmer
Summary: They were lucky that home was not something to be born with, but rather something to choose for themselves.


**Homecoming**

_I want no other fields than these,  
No other skies,  
No redder dawn to break on bluer seas,  
No brighter stars to rise. _

**-Alfred Austin**

-/-

There was no end to the list of things Ja'far liked about the palace. Should someone wake him up in the dead of the night, he knew he would be able to come up with at least half a dozen before he even opened his eyes.

It was an amazing place: it was spacious and grandiose and impressive as any proper royal palace should be, and Ja'far knew what he was talking about because he had seen quite a few despite being so young. Young did not necessarily mean inexperienced, and Ja'far was already pretty experienced by the age of ten, although it was perhaps not something he was going to tell his grandchildren. Or anyone's grandchildren, for that matter, seeing how he didn't have any of his own and doubted it would change in the future. He simply didn't have time for such silliness.

Another good thing about the palace was the way it was raised so high above the rest of the island, overlooking the whole of the kingdom with its green forests lining the Wall, and the houses, and loud, bustling markets, and the harbor and the numerous ships coming and going, traders and merchants and emissaries sailing incessantly across the water into the wider expanse of the southern sea to come back again one day.

Apart from being an inspiring view, it also gave its inhabitants a strategic and military advantage. Should a siege occur, for example... Wouldn't it be just so easy to pour burning oil down on the heads of the enemy troops? And shooting them full of arrows? Well, it was not very likely to happen, not now, but it paid to be prepared.

Anyway, Ja'far was quite proud of the palace as it had been his idea to put it where it was when they first argued about the location. Not that it had been much of an argument though – Sinbad had agreed immediately. Moreover, he had said:

"Imagine the parties we will throw when it's finished. Wine! Beautiful women dancing. Fireworks."

"Shouldn't you be thinking about more important things first?" Ja'far had snapped, quite irritated.

"How do you know I haven't already?"

And there was no way to tell.

-/-

They did throw a party in the end, and many more after that, each more lavish and extravagant than the previous one, as if by celebrating every possible occasion they were trying to prove to the big world outside their small island that they existed, that Sindria would flourish and prosper against all odds, that they had every right to be proud of it and of the work they had done.

"Don't you think that perhaps we're going a bit overboard, Sin?" Ja'far asked one evening, some years after the war, as they stood on the balcony of the palace, Masrur, and him, and Sinbad, resplendent in his white robes, waving at the crowd below, smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look.

The warm summer air alive with the smells of roasted meat and fish, and wine and burning wood coming from where they had ordered great fires made for people to gather around and share their joy. Laughter drifted up to them, and snippets of conversation, and someone's bawdy singing – out of tune, but rich in detail.

"It's just that you were never one for parties, Ja'far," Sinbad replied, turning his head slightly. He was still smiling, eyes half-closed in delight. "We can't have too many nights like this."

"We celebrated three months ago."

"Exactly. Three months ago is three lifetimes past."

Ja'far felt exasperation stir sleepily somewhere in the pit of his stomach. "I'm in charge of the royal treasury, and I have to say it: another feast of that proportion, and we'll be scraping the bottom of the barrel to _run the kingdom_."

Sinbad's smile did not falter. "Our ships are coming back from Reim next week. You won't have to scrape that bottom any longer..."

"Can you be serious for five minutes, Sin!?" Ja'far drew in enough air to deliver a long scathing tirade but before he could start his gaze settled on Masrur. "Don't _you_ have anything to say? Our king is trying to ruin us."

Masrur blinked and said. "No."

Throwing his head back, Sinbad laughed. It was, as always, a strangely contagious sound – despite being mad, Ja'far suddenly felt like laughing too, at the absurdity of the situation if nothing else.

Masrur added calmly "I didn't hear what you said."

"Napping with your eyes open is a very useful skill. Believe me when I say so – I should know." Sinbad turned away from the feast below and extracted a bottle of wine from somewhere in the folds of his clothing. He uncorked it and sniffed. "Oh, that's good."

"I wasn't napping," Masrur said with dignity. "I was listening to the song. The words are most enlightening. Now give me some wine too."

"The song? What song? Ah..." Sinbad paused for a moment, then laughed even harder. "_Keyhole In The Door_! I should've recognized it, it's an old Parthevian song. In the village where I used to live as a kid, they would sing it once they got 'round to the third bottle. Provided women were not around, that is."

"What did they sing after the fifth one?" Masrur asked, with more curiosity than was proper.

Ja'far sighed, giving up. The singer in the market square below was elaborating on how exactly keyholes could come in handy, especially if they were in the right kind of door and if behind said door was a beautiful woman's bedroom.

Even if he tried, he couldn't find a less suitable moment to discuss the budget.

-/-

"Ohhh, papers again? How boring!" Sharrkan threw open the door and immediately entered, not waiting for Ja'far to invite him in – or send him on his way, which was what Ja'far would very much like to do. He still had a great big pile of documents to go through, and Sharrkan was the worst person to have around if one wanted to concentrate. He was lazy and he liked it to spread.

"Yes," Ja'far said in a clipped tone, hoping despite all his previous experience that Sharrkan would take the hint and leave. "Lots of them."

"But it's well past midnight. Are they really that urgent?"

"Indeed they are."

"Such a shame," the swordsman replied cheerfully as he plopped down into the massive arm-chair opposite Ja'far's desk. "Have you ever tried to delegate?"

"Delegate to whom? You're all either drunk or asleep half the time. Someone has to do the job around here." Now that he was so close Ja'far could notice, with the sharpness his senses had never lost since his days as an assassin, that Sharrkan's clothes were in disarray, and his hair was more disheveled than usually, and an unfamiliar perfume clung to him, too sweet to belong on a man. "Have you been to a brothel _again_?"

"Someone has to uphold our reputation and set the standards. _And_ help the ladies generate some income too." Sharrkan smiled lazily, green eyes glinting mischievously in the candle light. "Since you're all either too busy trying to work yourselves to death or have a stick lodged up you asses." He propped his feet on the edge of the desk and added. "Or, in some cases, both. Well, except for Sinbad."

Ja'far wondered briefly if he could allow a moment to make sure Sharrkan remembered he was not the only one who knew how to dispatch unwanted visitors. But in truth, his heart was not in it.

Calmly, he pushed Sharrkan's feet off the desk and said.

"I've always had a suspicion it was your shameless behavior that got you exiled, not all that other stuff." He noted with some satisfaction the way Sharrkan's eyes changed abruptly, turning hard and distant, the moment his homeland was mentioned.

But Ja'far didn't want to be cruel – something he knew himself to be very capable of – he only aimed to remind the man there were limits to what one should say, even among friends. Some rules were there for a reason. Some boundaries served a purpose. Sharrkan tended to get carried away occasionally, more often than not when alcohol was involved.

"Can I help you with something? If not, I'd be much obliged if you let me finish with these," he gestured toward the pile of documents. "I'd like to get some rest, you know. Tomorrow the envoy from the Kou Empire is due to arrive, and I can tell it's not going to be a light-hearted conversation..."

It never was where the Kou Empire was concerned. Ja'far dreaded the next meeting with Koumei Ren. The Second Prince of the Empire looked like he was unaware of his status and position half the time, but when he actually spoke his mind, it sent chills down Ja'far's spine. The man put him in mind of a bundle of dirty rags wrapped around the sharpest of swords. The sight was as unassuming as it could get, but underneath was a blade that could cut through anything.

The negotiations had no chance of going smoothly.

"What do you think, Ja'far, you being the one with the good judgment around here," Sharrkan's voice drifted over to him across the ocean of unhappy thoughts and bad premonitions, "Which is the better word for Sindria? I say it's _triumphant_. Yamraiha insists it _victorious_. What do you say?"

Ja'far gave him a disbelieving look.

"_Accidentally lucky_ would be my choice under the current circumstances." Or, even more fitting, _disorganized_.

"Oh come on." Sharrkan grinned, white teeth seemingly even whiter against his dark skin. "Be serious."

"Well, aren't they both the same thing?"

"_Triumphant_ has a better ring to it," Sharrkan pointed out smugly.

"If you say so." Ja'far rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "What brought this about, anyway?"

"Ahh... nothing really. Yamraiha keeps saying that since we are a young country and have no history to speak of, like other nations do, we'd better decide how we want to be remembered, and work on it."

"She actually says that?"

"She actually says a lot more, but I forget most of it as soon as she stops talking. Only this kinda stuck..."

"If you can still remember it in the morning," Ja'far replied firmly, "let me know and we'll discuss it on the council. And now I'd like to get on with my work!"

But as Sharrkan left, letting the door swing shut behind him, Ja'far thought about the Kou Empire – the _Dazzling_ Empire of the Far East.

-/-

"Hey, Sin."

"Hm? This wine is good. You should try it."

"You know what? The way you behave, _you_ should be Sharrkan's brother, not King Armakan."

"How do you know Armakan is any different?"

"If he were not, Sharrkan wouldn't be here now. Sin?"

"What?"

"Is Sindria victorious or triumphant?"

"It's neither."

"Why would you say that?"

"Isn't it obvious? Because Sindria is defiant."

-/-

Out of the window of his office, Ja'far could see the moon – it was hanging high over the Wall, riding across the night sky on ghostly clouds.

The harbor was silent except for the sloshing of water, as the ships big and small slept and dreamed their dreams of distant lands and deeper seas. Even the drunkards and the dogs have gone to sleep.

It was amazing, really, how the island changed over the course of fourteen years.

Ja'far could remember how it used to be; all wilderness, and forests, and no sight of anything remotely resembling civilization. He remembered the way it had all begun and marveled at the miracle of its existence. The country founded by a bunch of lowlifes – a boy who had nothing, an assassin who had less, exiles and refugees and good-for-nothings, and people who had lost enough to never hope again and people who were too poor to lose anything at all.

And yet.

And yet here they all were now, in a Sindria that headed the Seven Seas Alliance, in a Sindria they could be rightfully proud of because they were the ones who had breathed life into it when it was nothing but a dream; standing side by side with the King they had chosen to follow, the one who had already changed the world as he had once promised, who gave as good as he got and made things happen.

This Sindria was his as much as Sinbad's, or Sharrkan's or anyone else's; this Sindria had enough to offer to those who had a true heart.

It may not have the long history of conquests, the dynasty of brilliant rulers, or traditions that dated back into the days when the world was young and a different place.

Perhaps it was not dazzling like Kou, or ancient like Heliohapt, or powerful like Reim. Perhaps.

_It may not be all those things_, Ja'far thought as watched the moon hide behind the clouds and resurface again, _but it came to life against all odds, and it survived despite so many enemies wishing it were otherwise, and when it lost and crumbled down, it arose from ashes like a phoenix, and grew stronger. _We_ grew stronger. What else could I wish for?_

He did not know it but he was smiling.

* * *

A/N: _Keyhole In The Door_ is an actual song. Google it! You won't be disappointed.

Reviews will make me happy, as always.


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